


Miss the Mark

by dezolis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezolis/pseuds/dezolis
Summary: Cor and Clarus just want to test him, make sure he'll be useful in a fight.  But Prompto knows the real question is whether he's worthy of being by Noct's side.
Kudos: 13





	Miss the Mark

“Don’t be nervous,” his proctor for this supposedly informal test says and Prompto considers it a win that he doesn’t shit his pants.

_Don’t be nervous_. Yeah, if he was Cor the Frickin’ Immortal Leonis, he wouldn’t be nervous either. That man has faced down Niflheim soldiers, monsters, daemons, and, if Gladio wasn’t messing with him, a mythical warrior. Prompto’s staring down a piece of paper with a target on it at the back of the firing range and the sweat on his palms and the racing of his heart says that the paper’s winning. 

Prompto’s done this a zillion times before. He’s joked about it. Guns - they’re like a camera - you point and you shoot. He’s good at both. He knows it. The target in front of him is a silhouette of a magitek trooper and he’s taken repeated headshots on ones exactly like it without a problem. Shot out a smiley face on one of them to impress Noct once. But that was goofing off. That was practice. This is standing before the Marshal of the Crownsguard and the Shield of the King and proving he’s worthy to travel with Noctis, that he’s not some loser who can’t help out his friends.

Clarus Amicitia lurks behind him, leaning against the wall and not saying a word. He’s got the same brick shithouse build of his son, only way more intimidating and there are times when Gladio makes Prompto feel like he’s two feet tall. The way Clarus is making him feel has Prompto wondering if he’s big enough to hold a gun.

Cor’s trying to make this easy. “The boys have vouched for you and Ignis and Gladiolus don’t give empty praise. All we want to do is see for ourselves before signing off on you going out into the field with them.”

_With Noct, you mean_. Clarus wouldn’t be too hot on his son getting accidentally shot either but this is really about being good enough to keep hanging with Noctis. He’s punching so far above his weight on that already that the idea of being given the actual responsibility of his safety is making Prompto want to vomit all over the floor and haul his scrawny ass out of here.

His anxiety must be written all over his face. Clarus breaks his silence to tell him, “Gladiolus was shaking like a leaf the first time I put him through his paces. But he took a deep breath, focused and found his groove.” 

So Prompto breathes in, breathes out and thinks he’s going to hyperventilate. Focusing doesn’t go much better. The firing range feels like it’s grown a mile and the target is a tiny spot off in the distance. Onto his groove. _Point and shoot. Point and shoot_.

Prompto picks up his gun with hands trembling so badly he nearly fumbles it. He tells himself Cor and Clarus aren’t here. He came to the range to blow off steam, not to be judged. This is nothing.

Except the only thing Prompto is better at than talking himself up is talking himself down.

He can play pretend all he wants. It’s not going to change the fact that his first shot goes so wide, it doesn’t touch the paper target. Second and third shots too. Cor folds his arms over his chest and Prompto ignores his instructions to settle down in favor of taking the remainder of his six shots. The fifth nicks the edge of the target. That’s the best he does.

“Warm up round,” Clarus says charitably.

Prompto knows for damn sure he’d never say that to someone who isn’t Gladio’s friend. He’d march them out of here for wasting their time. Cor would be right behind him. Ignis and Gladio would retract their recommendations. Noct would...Noct would smile and tell him to chill. It’s no big deal. He believes in him. He doesn’t need some stupid test to tell him Prompto’s good.

Everybody else does. Prompto does. 

Reloading is a nightmare. Prompto can fit a bullet into a chamber blindfolded any other day, but right now he’s like a baby trying to jam a square peg in a round hole in the middle of an earthquake. One bullet clanks against the floor after he drops it. That’s really going to score him some points. 

Finally the damn thing is loaded and he thinks maybe he should just go ahead and shoot before he can get too far into his own head. It’s the wrong call. In rapid order, he fails to hit the target four times and the two holes he does make are laughably far from the trooper’s form.

There’s no point in doing round three. Cor and Clarus’s patience has run out and the kindest thing they can say is they’ll try this again when Prompto is more on his game. 

_Again_. Yeah, they’ll do this all over again with the same results. Again and again and again, because when it comes down to it, how is he supposed to prove he’s worthy of something when he knows he’s not?

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for last year's whumptober prompt 'shaky hands' and was the only one I actually finished. Finally posting it in honor of not getting to any prompts at all this year and proof that I actually can write short things.


End file.
